


over and out.

by cool_dude



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cool_dude/pseuds/cool_dude
Summary: an evening phone call and the resulting confusion.





	over and out.

**Author's Note:**

> prepare for a bunch of italics and an unsatisfying ending

  Stanford Pines is in a state of uncertainty when he gets the telephone call. His eyes are falling on themselves in exhaustion, but his hands perpetually move, because he has to finish this, he has to get this doctorate. _Just this one, just get past this one, and then no more,_ he repeats. It’s still as much of a lie as it was the fourth time.

  Still, the physics textbook swims in his eyes. He scowls.

  His body springs up like a _bullet_ when the telephone bounces off of its receiver in an obnoxious, terrible _clash_. He puts his hands over it to quell its shaking, and-

  -he answers. It’s his old roommate from college, and  _remember when you would play DnDnmD until the sun broke through, remember when you would fantasize spectacularly between a joint or two, remember when everything seemed oh so simple?_

   “ _Stanford_ , it’s been so long!” There’s so much smiling beaming happy gushing _emotion_ in his voice that it's contagious. “How are you?”

  “Working on my fifth PhD. In physics.”

  “...  _Good Lord_  Stanford! You don't know when to stop, do you?!”

  Stanford smiles. “I guess I haven't changed very much since college.”

  " _Darn_ right you haven't!" He laughs, then sobers quickly. “Well, actually, that’s kinda why I called you. Ford, do you... do you by any chance remember Katy?”

  Ford grimaces, trying to put a face to the name. “You mean that girl with the floppy bangs who was always trying to cheat off of you in Philosophy?” She had also smelled suspiciously of roadkill. He had told Fiddleford to break up with her years ago in college, and for good reason.

   “That’s the one! Ford…” There’s a pregnant, giddy pause. “Me an’ her are gettin’ married!!”

   “What?”

    _Married_?

   Fiddleford is a brilliant man; his mechanical skill had been impeccable even in college and has surely increased since then. The man could do... do  _anything_ with a mind like that, collect  _every manner_ of award, achieve  _any means_ of success, and…

   ...he’s throwing it all away for a woman? For _love_? 

   Fiddleford… _married_?

   All tact escapes from him in an instant, and there's no hiding the rampant _disgust_ in his voice. “ _Why_?”

   Silence, then a snort of disbelief on the other end of the line. “W-What? _Why_?!” His tone sharpens. “I- I _love_ her, Stanford, that’s why! I want to _marry_ her, I want to _be_ with her forever and share the rest of our lives together! I want to have children and a home! I want to have a family who loves me and who I can come home to! Why _else_ would I want to get married? Try as you may to deny it, it's a-a fairly common phenomenon! Hell, I'll bet... I'll bet even _you've_ felt that way about someone! C-C'mon Ford, just... please just _try_ to understand!"

   It sounds like _hell_ , and he should know, because he had lived that way before, with ~~Stan~~ with _him_ by his side, one half of a whole, completely dependent on the other, completely in his shadow on the sidelines of the ring, ~~(completely ignored by his father and always craving attention)~~  and it felt like- like someone was pressing on his chest. Like someone was _suffocating_  him.

  
   He recalls everyone he’s ever considered a friend. It’s a short list. There's only one person on it who he wouldn't mind by his side. Who he cares about more than family. Who he trusts completely. Who he admires  ~~more than~~ as much as Sagan and Tesla. 

   He supposes, in Fiddleford's mind, it could even be called lov-

   No. Of course not. _That-_ that's not love. That's not the romantic, matrimonial kind, you _stupid freak._

   He feels slightly ill.

   Fiddleford continues, after Ford’s silence.

   “Stanford, the reason I called you is that I-I want you to be my best man,” he says. “I know you... I know you might not understand my reasons for marriage, but… you’re my best friend. I want you to- to _be_ here.”

   Stanford wants desperately to laugh. He wants desperately to _yell_ , too- something tasteful, something along the lines of ‘Why the hell would you choose me, of all the more worthy people you know?’ or ‘you haven’t called in months; why haven't you called; please don't forget about me’ or ‘don’t make me watch you throw your life away over some stupid girl!’

   “Okay,” he replies quietly. It means a lot to Fiddleford, he _knows_ that it does, and, well, hasn’t he antagonized him enough for one evening?


End file.
